Just Like History
by tanyart
Summary: Desmond had always thought Shaun was a little too practical-minded for photography. -High school AU. Implied Altair/Malik and other pairings.
1. Just Like History

**AN:** This was written for the AC Kink Meme, and originally supposed to be a quick fill, but I have a confession to make and that confession is my shameful fondness for high school AUs. The original prompt included a list of suggestions, of which I gleefully took some of them on, but sadly not all. There are implied pairings left and right and all over, but the most prominent is a small dose of Altair/Malik. Otherwise, feel free to view this as a gen AU fic.

* * *

Finding a free table during lunch was difficult enough without being the new freshman kid, but Desmond thought he was pretty lucky to be friends with Lucy, who was admittedly the most popular freshman in school and pretty damn cute, though Desmond was sure Lucy didn't need that cheerleader uniform to get what she wanted. The girl was assertive enough, and knew her way around people, teachers included.

"Thanks," he said, sliding into the seat Lucy saved for him. From across the table, Rebecca gave him a goofy grin while nodding her head to whatever music she was listening to on her iPod, and Shaun only spared him a vaguely annoyed glance before returning to fiddle around with his camera.

It baffled Desmond, sometimes, because he could never figure out why such a knock out girl like Lucy would be best friends with weird cases like Rebecca and Shaun. Well, maybe that was a bit harsh—Rebecca was okay, for a band geek; she was only in band because of her broken leg, anyway. The moment that leg healed, he figured she would go right back to playing soccer and volleyball and the millions of other sports she did after school. Rebecca was weird, but in an endearing sort of way. Like an energetic puppy. With a broken leg. Desmond couldn't hate her to save his life.

Shaun, on the other hand, was something of a complete asshole. It took a while for Desmond to warm up to him, and he only did it at first because he was reluctant to let go of the safety net Lucy had become. Leaving her group meant that he had to find another one or risk turning into one of those people who reblogged _forever alone_ pictures on their tumblr.

But Shaun, occasionally, would have these moments where Desmond could almost believe that he was not so much of a dick.

"Hey, you know that photography project for Mr. da Vinci's?" Shaun said, pulling out a folder from his backpack. He pushed Desmond's food tray, almost off the table before Desmond had the sense to pull it away and balance it over his lap instead with a 'fuck you' look.

"Yeah, your subject is candids, right?" Lucy asked, even though she wasn't even taking photography. She had a knack for practically knowing what every class had for homework.

"Right, right," Shaun said, opening the folder. "I've already chosen the five I want to turn it, but here are the rest."

Desmond had always thought Shaun was a little too practical-minded for photography, but there was something in his candid photos that was oddly striking in their own quiet way; the picture of Lucy reading _Pride and Prejudice_ instead of her chemistry book was a favorite of Desmond's. And there was another one of Rebecca watching a soccer game with her broken leg propped against a bench, and even a photo of himself, in the middle of opening his locker with a blank, Monday-morning stare. Desmond couldn't remember when that happened, but it was one of those everyday things, he didn't think he was meant to remember.

"Well, it's a bit like writing a history essay, yeah?" Shaun said when Desmond manned up to give him a compliment. "Only with pictures."

"No," he said bluntly.

"Man, I like the one with Desmond picking his nose," Rebecca laughed, holding up the offending picture. "This is going on myspace for sure."

"What!" Desmond tried snatching to picture from her hand, but when that failed, he grabbed another one from the folder. "Fine, then I guess I'll post this painfully cute picture of you drooling on your desk. I mean, _look at all that drool_, Crane. So charming."

"You do that, Desmond Miles, and I will beat you upside the head with my crutches."

"Settle down, children," Shaun drawled. "There's plenty of blackmail material to go around, though you guys are free to keep the pictures of yourselves."

Lucy had been flipping through the majority of the photos, a small smile on her face. "Which ones did you choose for your project?"

"Oh, the one with Desmond sneezing, and Rebecca getting one of her crutches stuck in the mud, and I got one of you and Claudia cheerleading with your panties showing."

Lucy stared at him and somehow nothing was set on fire.

"I'm just kidding," Shaun said meekly.

"What are you going to do with the rest of them?"

Shaun shrugged. "Probably give them to the people I took the pictures of. Maybe send them to the school paper."

At that, Lucy raised an eyebrow and held up a photo. "You'll break a lot of hearts with this one."

Desmond and Rebecca paused in their bickering to peer at the picture of Mr. da Vinci in the middle of a lecture. It was innocent enough, if not for an older student making the most obvious puppy-dog eyes at him in the background.

"Oh, Ezio," Rebecca sighed, "May your man-crush never be less obvious than it is now."

"God, I can't imagine what will happen once Ezio graduates," Desmond said, nose wrinkling.

"If they don't start going out within the first of Ezio's birthday, I will be disappointed," Lucy said, and of _course_, she would know Ezio's birthday. Though, truth be told, Desmond knew it too, but only because the senior—and most likely homecoming king, if Cesare didn't beat him to it—threw some damn good parties.

"What's this? Lucy feeding the fires of gossip?" Shaun teased.

"It's not gossip if it's the truth," Lucy said, shrugging, and went back to looking through the photos. Rebecca snorted into her drink and a fist-bump was exchanged.

"Oh! And speaking of the truth—" Shaun said, taking the few that Rebecca was sifting through. "Here's something interesting I took during the football game last week." He placed a photo in the middle of the table, looking unusually delighted.

Almost fearing for his reputation, Desmond leaned forward, bumping heads with Lucy and Rebecca as they crowded around.

"Okay, it's Mr. A-Sayf and Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad," he said, squinting. "Nothing new." Except both the teachers were smiling, and it wasn't the kind of evil smile they usually wore when giving out tests.

"Oh, my god, look at their hands," Lucy whispered, and Desmond took another look.

At first glance it was nothing more than a large group of people enjoying a football game from the stands—Shaun must have been on the way up when he snapped it—but even with the surrounding crowd, it was obvious the two teachers were the focus of the photo. Desmond thought Shaun must have taken it because of the lack of scowl on Mr. A-Sayf's face, which was surprising enough, but the fact that he was _holding hands_ with Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad gave their smiles a whole new meaning.

Desmond felt himself growing red in the face, as if he was intruding on a private moment, a part of the mysterious lives of teachers when they weren't being, well, _teachers_. And from the looks of it, the hand-holding was meant to be discreet, tucked between them and partially hidden by their baggy school spirit sweatshirts. Desmond wouldn't have noticed it at all if it hadn't been for Lucy pointing it out.

"But," Rebecca began, eyes wide, "they're _always_ arguing. And I'm pretty sure I saw A-Sayf punch Ibn-La'Ahad in the face one time."

"Well, it's not like they're going to hold hands and kiss each other during school," Lucy said, still staring at the picture. "There's, like, policies on that."

"Yeah, but it doesn't make it any less weird," Desmond said, and even she had to agree with that.

"You're not going to _give_ them the picture, are you?" Rebecca asked, turning to Shaun.

"Oh, no. I was going to make copies of it and blackmail Mr. A-Sayf into giving me an A in his class, because I apparently want a deathwish," Shaun replied, rolling his eyes. "_Yes_, I'm going to give it to them. Or, rather, Desmond's going to."

"What," Desmond said, leaning back. "No way. You may want a deathwish, but I don't."

"It's a nice picture," Shaun said, picking it up and waving it in Desmond's face. "And Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad actually _likes _you, though I can't imagine why."

"He's going to think I'm creepy," Desmond protested, but he took the photo anyway, if only because Lucy had given him a look that promised a world of disappointed if he didn't.

"It's a nice picture," Shaun repeated, and stole the fries from Desmond's lunch tray.

* * *

Desmond's best bet was to give the picture after basketball practice, just so that he could run home and not fear Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad's wrath until the next day.

"Hey, coach," Desmond said, poking his head into Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad's office.

"Desmond," Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad greeted. "What do you need?"

Much like Shaun, Desmond couldn't figure out why Ibn-La'Ahad liked him so much. It wasn't as if he was taking Ibn-La'Ahad's government class (that would be in three years if Desmond stayed long enough), but he supposed that they had somehow bonded through basketball. Desmond wasn't good enough for the Varsity team, but he played for JV when Ibn-La'Ahad convinced him to tryout despite being a freshman (and a little on the short side, but he was assured that he'd grow taller, eventually).

"Uh, my friend was doing this art project," Desmond began, unzipping his backpack and rummaging for the photos. "And he took a lot of great pictures, but he only needed five of them. There were a few pictures of you, so he figured you should have them."

He finally pulled out the envelope and handed it over. Already planning to make his escape, Desmond shuffled his way towards the door.

"Oh, thank you," Ibn-La'Ahad said, as if a little surprised, but not in a bad way.

Desmond hesitated, his hand already on the door. He didn't want to leave Ibn-La'Ahad with the impression that he was trying to blackmail him. It wasn't like that at all, and he didn't want Shaun to get in trouble because—well, Shaun was a pretty nice guy, even though he was a huge dick most of the time.

And, because Desmond apparently had a deathwish after all, he stayed.

The other photos in the envelope were less incriminating candids. Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad was frowning in a few, smirking in some, and looking unimpressed in nearly all of them. The picture with him and A-Sayf holding hands had been tucked in the back, since Desmond had the foresight to make sure he had plenty of time to run away.

"There's a few with Mr. A-Sayf," Desmond said, unable to help himself. The silence was a little unnerving. "And I was wondering if you could give those to him too since I'm not in his classes." He didn't mention that it was hard to sort the pictures properly since Mr. A-Sayf was rarely seen without Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad and vice-versa. Now that Desmond knew about their relationship, he was having a hard time figuring out why he hadn't noticed it before.

"These aren't very flattering," Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad said dryly, flipping through the pictures. "We look kind of evil."

Deciding to play it safe and keep his mouth shut, Desmond gave a half-hearted shrug that froze in place when Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad skipped ahead and paused at a picture with a small frown.

"Well," he said, looking up, his sharp gaze directed at Desmond.

Desmond resisted the urge to back away, reminded of all the rumors surrounding the government teacher—how many students he'd suspended and expelled, being an ex-hitman, being a secret agent—and none of it very far-fetched. Desmond was inclined to believe them too, if only he hadn't known Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad to grin or clap a hand over his shoulder whenever Desmond made a three-point shot, or buy him lunch when he had forgotten his money at home.

"They're nice pictures," Desmond said, and he wasn't lying.

To his surprise, Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad smiled, a small echo of the one from the photo. "If you say so. Tell your friend I said thanks."

"Um, yeah, I will," Desmond said, taking it as his cue to hurry out of the room. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you."

And he let the door swing shut, but not before looking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad tacking the photos on the wall, still wearing that smile.

* * *

So, yeah. Shaun wasn't that big of an asshole.

His photography project went on display at the school library. He didn't want anyone to come see it, but it was the least Desmond could do for having to deliver most of his pictures.

"It's actually pretty good, Shaun," Rebecca said, grinning. "Is that Federico and Vieri giving each other the evil eye from across the courtyard? Impressive."

"I like the one with Mr. Lorenzo staring out his window," Lucy said. "Makes me wonder who's he looking at."

"Mr. Auditore," Desmond guessed. Ezio's father was just as popular as Ezio himself, probably because of all the money donations he gave to the PTA. "The Kadar one's my favorite, I think, but the janitor in the foreground kind of ruins it."

"Yeah, La Volpe's a creeper," Shaun agreed. "But I commend you guys for not mentioning the picture of—oh, you know—the one I got points marked down from. I could have gotten an A on the whole project, but no. Didn't happen."

The last picture Shaun had submitted was of Lucy, Rebecca, and Desmond, sitting together at their usual spot. There was nothing strange going on, none of their usual photo bombs or silly faces; Lucy was looking at something over her shoulder, Rebecca was taking a bite of her sandwich, and Desmond appeared to be catching up on his homework.

It was a good picture, but it was obvious why Shaun had gotten the lower grade for it; there was a blur in the upper left corner, ugly and out of place, where his finger had slipped in front on the lens.

"Well, _I_ like it," Rebecca announced.

"Hey, it's a picture of all of us, including you," Desmond added, nudging Shaun.

"Good job," Lucy said, grinning. "It's meaningful. Poetic."

"Yeah. Well," Shaun grumbled, the tips of his ears growing pink. "I hope you're all happy. Da Vinci even pulled me aside to make sure I _knew _about the smudge."

"And did you?" Desmond asked, because it would be just like Shaun to lie about not knowing.

"Nope."

There. See? Not an asshole at all.


	2. Not Like History

**AN:** This wasn't supposed to happen, but I couldn't help myself. I am nothing if not totally self-indulgent. Here is more of Altair, the high school government teacher, with his long suffering co-worker Malik, the geography teacher, and they are boyfriends.

And the worst chaperones for prom.

* * *

Altair was well aware that being a teacher was essentially a babysitting job that sometimes involved books. Books, he had no problem with, but there was very little he could like about the school dances he was forced to chaperone. Thankfully, Altair could breathe easy knowing that it was the last one of the year and that he, at least, wasn't alone in his suffering.

"You wouldn't believe what I just saw," Malik said, joining him next to the punch fountain. He grabbed a plastic cup and filled it halfway, and Altair thought it he could hear him say, "—I hope this is spiked" over the music before draining the entire thing.

Altair knew Malik had just made his rounds around the dance floor and ventured a guess. "Two students grinding it out."

"Yes, but that's what everyone's doing," Malik said, leaning close so that they could speak over the booming bass of the Black Eyed Peas' latest hit. He smelled like a mixture of perfumes and cheap cologne, no doubt from exposure to too many dancing and sweating students. Yet for all that, Altair found himself a little drawn to Malik's crisp black button-down and loosened tie.

"—Lucrezia and Cesare," Malik was saying.

"What?" Altair asked, glad that he could blame the music for his inattentiveness.

"The Borgia siblings," Malik repeated, and made a swinging motion with his hips and—damn that man—Altair stared, unsure if it was the news that made him do it, or Malik's brief interpretation.

"Well, that's two people not going to win Prom King or Queen," Altair finally said, dragging his eyes back up to Malik's face. Maybe the punch fountain was spiked after all; he refilled his cup. "My money's on Ezio."

"Oh, god, speaking of Ezio," Malik began, passing a hand over his eyes. "Ten minutes ago I caught him in the hallway, half-naked—"

"Please don't tell me this involves Leonardo," Altair groaned, "This school can't take anymore scandals."

"No, he was with Cristina."

"Oh," Altair said. "Well, that's good."

"No, it _isn't_," Malik said, scowling. "My eyes have been subjected to too many horrific things tonight, most of them underage and illegal, while_ you_ get to stay here and take care of the punch fountain."

"It's a hard job," Altair said, indignant. "I already had to take away two water bottles filled with Smirnoff."

There was a pause.

"Smirnoff," Malik said flatly. "And you know this, how?"

Altair pulled out a water bottle from under the table. "Try it for yourself."

Malik did, chasing it down with some more punch. He grimaced, but it didn't detract from the suspicious look he threw Altair. "Where's the other bottle?"

"With Lorenzo."

"Ah," Malik said. He was about to say more, but Claudia came up to the table, looking quite pretty in her fiery orange dress.

"Hi," she said, reaching for the plate of crackers. The smile on her face was wry. "You two look like you're having fun."

"We're not paid to have fun," Altair said, smoothly taking the water bottle from Malik's hands and putting it back under the table. "But what about you?"

"Um, just sitting this song out." Claudia's smile became a little fixed and Altair felt Malik nudge his arm. He abruptly remembered that she had recently broken up with her boyfriend; normally Altair didn't care about the romantic affairs of students, but Ezio had beaten up the poor boy in the middle of passing period, so it was common knowledge now.

"This is a bad song anyway," Malik said, filling in the awkward silence. He glanced around, eyes lighting up for a moment, and he tilted his head in one direction. "Kadar's over there by himself. I'll give you extra credit if you ask him to dance."

Claudia followed his line of sight where a sad group of people had moved to the edge of the dance floor, unable to find a partner for the sickly sweet slow jam. She laughed.

"Oh! I didn't notice him there," she said, grinning, "And you really didn't have to offer any extra credit. Thanks, Mr. A-Sayf."

Altair and Malik watched as she walked over, forcibly taking a startled Kadar by the arms. It was hardly a match made in heaven, but eventually the two students were laughing at each other, fumbling over their own feet and bumping into other couples.

"Kadar is a horrible dancer," Altair observed. "Haven't you been teaching him?"

"No, of course not," Malik said. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to see him flail around like that."

Altair smirked. "Well, I don't think it would have made a difference, even if you did."

"Is that so?" Malik said with a sidelong glance. "I think I could show you a thing or two."

Altair looked up at the gym's ceiling, suddenly very interested in the dusty, old beams. "Are you asking me to dance?"

"No," Malik said, grabbing Altair by the wrist and tugging him away from the table. "I'm going to prove you wrong."

-o-

The air outside the gym was refreshingly cool. There was a ringing in Altair's ears the moment the doors closed behind them, and somehow during the quick walk out of the gym, Malik's hand had slid down from his wrist so that their fingers were loosely twined together.

The hallway was empty and the florescent lights dimmed, but Malik dragged him over to a gap between two rows of lockers, not exactly hidden, but dark enough to avoid any immediate attention from any unsuspecting passerby.

"That punch fountain won't be filled with punch by the time we get back," Altair said, placing his hand on Malik's waist, the muffled music still thrumming through his body.

Malik made a noncommittal noise, pressing against him in a way that made Altair almost forget what he was about to say next. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, giving some semblance to a swaying motion.

"This is hardly dancing," Altair muttered into Malik's neck.

Malik chuckled, his breath warm against his cheek. "I blame the song. It's awful."

"It's Bruno Mars. Talking to the Moon," he hummed. "And it's not awful."

"How do you even know this?"

"I confiscated an iPod last week," Altair said defensively. He tilted his head, listening as the last of the verses faded away and turned into a fast-paced pop song—Ke$ha, though Altair wasn't going to admit that he knew. "Not all the new stuff is terrible."

Malik snorted, stepping back and letting go of their hands.

"Well, it wasn't so bad," he conceded, looking up the mounted clock on the wall. "One more hour."

"I'm sure they'll play songs more to your taste," Altair grinned, and opened the gym doors.

Malik's reply was drowned out by the music, but as the dance lights passed over them Altair caught sight of his smirk before he disappeared into a crowd of mingling students.

And next time, Altair thought, he was going to be the one to ask Malik to dance.


End file.
